


Exeunt, Pursuing a Bear

by LadyTegana



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Episode: Trinket's Honey Heist, Gen, Honey Badger, Honey Heist Adjacent, Minor Percival "Percy" Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III/Vex'ahlia, Mischief, Mostly because this is about their kids, Perc'ahlia children, Post-Canon, Quarter Elf Children
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-08-18 20:33:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16524155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyTegana/pseuds/LadyTegana
Summary: "No one else in the family seems to notice when Trinket disappears during the Artisans’ Festival, but Vesper misses nothing."A tale of bears and honey badgers, too-clever children, and the best-laid plans of seven-year-old minds--or, How to Catch a Bear of Your Very Own by Lady Vesper de Rolo.





	1. Reconnaissance

No one else in the family seems to notice when Trinket disappears during the Artisans’ Festival, but Vesper misses nothing.

Even amidst the hustle and bustle—the vibrant flower garlands hanging from every shop and home, the carts overflowing with fruit and vegetables and warm pies piled high, the sound of laughter ringing out from every open window—she cannot fathom why she is the only person who notices that bulky brown form slipping down the halls and away.

She is meant to be preparing for the festival with Elaina, having her hair braided with feathers and flowers, but Elaina isn’t where she should be either. When Vesper goes to her sister’s room and opens the door, there is only silence, a brand-new dress laying untouched on the bed. More than likely, she is down in Papa’s workshop, sneaking in a few hours to tinker with her latest toy before she is absolutely obligated to get dressed.

It is playing with fire to seek out Elaina when she’s working, but she is the most sensible of the siblings. If anyone else has noticed Trinket’s absence, it will be Elaina.

Through the halls, down the stairs, past rushing cooks and clerks and courtiers, Vesper makes her way to the workshop.

The door is ajar, and there is a faint clink of metal on metal echoing through the opening. When Vesper pokes her head around, it is not Papa’s shock of white hair that meets her eyes, but a messy braid, strands of thick black hair poking out in willful disobedience.

Elaina hunches over a workbench in the corner of the room. Vesper had worried that by going to find her, she might alert her sister to the fact that they were meant to be preparing, but the manic glint in Elaina’s eye and the disarray of her hair allay any fears.

Vesper creeps forward, standing on her tiptoes to see over her sister’s shoulder. The object in Elaina’s hands is unidentifiable, a twisted creation of metal and wire.

“Have you seen Trinket?”

“What in the name of the gods—” Elaina’s head snaps up with sudden swiftness, nearly cracking Vesper in the jaw. “How many times have I told you not to sneak up on me when I’m working?!”

The answer is many times, but it will be many times yet before Vesper actually listens.

“Have you seen Trinket?”

Elaina scrubs at her cheek, leaving a gray smudge of grease from nose to brow. There is grease on the tip of her ear, too, which Vesper does not point out, but Mama undoubtedly will later.

“Why on earth would Trinket be down here? You know he’s not allowed in the workshop.”

“Only sometimes.” Vesper corrects. “When Mama is with him.”

“Does it look like Mama is down here?”

“Mama is good at hiding.”

“ _Mama_ may be, but I’m not concealing a hundreds-pound bear in the closet, if that’s what you’re asking,” Elaina grumbles. She twists a wire attached to the object in her hands, a low, frustrated growl burbling in her throat.

Vesper peers subtly around her sister’s shoulder again. Work must be going very poorly or very well, considering how irritable she is at being interrupted. But she does have a point. There aren’t many places to keep a bear in Papa’s cluttered workshop.

“Alright, I’ll keep looking. Have you seen Ollie?”

Elaina shakes her head, leaning back over the bench. Her impatience seems to grow as the end of the conversation looms.

“He disappeared hours ago. If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say he’s in the library, but where else would he be?”

There is no more information to be gleaned here. Vesper skips off, slipping back through the door. “You’re right. Thanks, Elaina.”

Elaina grunts, already reabsorbed in her work.

It is unusual for her to be down in the workshop and Papa not to be—perhaps she is developing an independent project. That might further explain why she is so irritable. Elaina is an innovator like Papa, but there’s still much she doesn’t know. Just last week, she came upstairs with a singed eyebrow to prove it.

If Ollie is truly in the library and has been all morning—and Elaina is right about one thing, because where else would he be?—then it would be fruitless to ask if he has seen Trinket. Besides, Ollie and Trinket seldom see eye to eye.

So instead, she uses what Mama has taught her, and goes to track down Trinket herself.

A cursory sweep of the keep reveals no signs of her furry friend, so the scope of the search must be widened. If Trinket is not in the keep, then he is in his other favorite place in Whitestone: out among the trees of the Parchwood.

 She must be quiet to follow Trinket out to the woods. If he notices her—hears the crack of twigs in the brush, catches a whiff of her familiar scent—she will be discovered in an instant. He will make that indignant little snuffle sound he makes only when Vesper is in a place she should not be, and then he will trundle her off to Mama, and that will be the end of that.

Vesper knows, too, that she has a limited time to complete her mission. If she is absent too long—if she fails to return before the ceremony that opens the festival—Papa will grow frantic. Then when she returns, she won’t be able to go anywhere else. Papa will keep her within his gaze the rest of the night, close by his side or safe in his arms, which she doesn’t mind so much—only she will have to pretend not to feel the warm tears of relief trickling down into her dark hair, the ones Papa tries to disguise behind the glimmer of his spectacles.

So, on swift and silent feet, she enters the wood.

Elaina prefers her tools and Ollie his books, and Simon and Freddie are too young yet to be outdoors unsupervised, so the Parchwood is Vesper’s alone. She sometimes feels she might have been born from the trees. Mama assures her this isn’t possible, but sometimes it is nice to pretend.

She has spent long hours walking through the trees with Mama, and with Auntie Kiki when she visits, which she likes especially because Auntie Kiki always knows how the plants are feeling. When she is alone, Vesper likes to press her fingers to the bark, to pretend she can read the ridges like ancient glyphs and feel the trees’ joys and sorrows seeping through her skin. But the trunks stay stubbornly silent, aside from the sighing of wind through the leaves and the crack and creak of dormant life when winter snow weighs heavy on the boughs. Someday, she thinks, she might find the right living thing that wants to talk with her, like Auntie Kiki does with the trees, or Mama with Trinket. She must simply be patient and keep her ears open.

But the trees aid her in other ways today. Caught in low branches and snarled scars of knotted wood are little clumps of bristly brown fur. From there, it isn’t hard to track the impression of wide paws in the brush, a trail of broken twigs and short claw marks lumbering toward a grove on the eastern side of the wood.

As she draws close, snuffling and grumbling meet her ears—some she recognizes, but much that she doesn’t. She softens the fall of her feet, scrambles up a tree, lithe as a squirrel, and leans down to watch the clearing below. 

Trinket’s broad back is readily visible, shaggy brown down to a stubby little tail that Vesper has always thought is very cute—though she would not dare tell him, for fear of offending him. He is seated in the wood, strangely still. She suddenly realizes why as she casts her gaze out and sees the hulking figures just beyond him.

A black and white bear, not as large as Trinket but rounder, shuffles on anxious paws. Two smaller bears, mostly dark with golden faces, sit side by side, nearly identical in every respect. Twins, perhaps, like Elaina and Ollie? One of them is rumbling low in its chest, the others’ gazes trained on it.

But the one that catches her attention most is the little one slinking around the feet of the others, its head low to the ground, the hairs along its spine arched like a cat.

A small bear. A bear that is Vesper-sized.

Though she loves Trinket dearly (and she knows she is his favorite, too, despite what Elaina claims) Trinket belongs to Mama. Vesper is well and truly old enough to have a bear of her very own. And seeing that little creature on the ground below, ideas begin to surface.

The creature doesn’t quite look like a bear—smaller and slimmer—but among all these other bears, it must be one. But it looks fiercer somehow too—sharp and alert in ways that the others are not. When she leans forward, she can make out the glint of long teeth and the curve of knife-sharp claws on its front paws. It would be a formidable protector, as fierce as Trinket guarding Mama.

She watches them for a while, the low rumbles, the growls that sound almost like words if she strains close enough. But none of it is understandable. She wonders if Mama knows that Trinket has all these other bear friends—she suspects not, or Mama would have brought them to the keep before now, particularly during the Artisan Festival, where bears are celebrated even more than usual.

Vesper has nearly lost her focus, wondering at why the bears are meeting in this secluded glade, when she sees the little one go slinking off through grass and away into the trees. She watches a moment longer, but none of the larger bears move to follow it—an opportunity. Vesper shimmies down the tree and away, careful not to make a sound. Trinket could still come after her, if he hears her or catches her scent.

It is harder to track the little creature through the trees than it was to track a great, lumbering bear. He keeps his head low to the ground, only occasionally poking up through the brush to sniff the air. But Vesper has listened to her mother about all the ways to pursue her quarry and she will not let him slip away. As she follows, she begins to hear conversation picked up on the wind, carried from the general commotion of festival preparations: the little creature is headed for the town.

He stops more often as he clears the tree line, not wishing to be spotted. But even if he is trying to be covert, he has still not noticed his pursuer, and Vesper sticks close to the shadows, just out of the line of his sight and his scents.

Finally, he stops at the back of a dark tent, nose pressed to the ground along the line where the tent is staked. With deft paws, he digs under the foundation, sticking his head beneath the tent flap before emerging with something round in his mouth.

Vesper startles momentarily when she sees the stark red between sharp teeth—those are, after all, the teeth of a predator. But upon closer inspection, her fears ease as she recognizes the soft lines of a little round beret.

The small bear spits it out on the ground, then tunnels beneath the tent again, emerging once, twice, three, four times with an array of hats. With great care, it piles them all together, nudging them into a tight circle with its nose. Then it selects three from within the pile—including the red beret—and scrambles off into the forest and away, out of sight.

When the rustle of leaves ceases, Vesper creeps out of the brush and over to the pile. She does not touch them—if the small bear is anything like Trinket, it will be able to tell that something has disturbed its carefully constructed piles. But she circles and observes. The hats are all manner of styles, no seeming pattern among them. After a brief survey, she is left with the same question she’s been pondering for the last few minutes: what could a small bear possibly want with almost a dozen hats?

But there isn’t much time to consider further, as the brush stirs again. Vesper darts away, back toward the trees, not stopping long enough to see if the small bear has noticed her intrusion or not.

A plan is already percolating in her head.


	2. Resource Acquisition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Ollie, do all kinds of bears like to eat the same things?"
> 
> To catch a bear, one must acquire the proper resources.

Mama never talks of when she first found Trinket, so Vesper doesn’t believe she could convince her to elaborate without drawing suspicion. Mama is no fool.

Ollie, on the other hand…

“Ollie, do all kinds of bears like to eat the same things?”

“How would I know?” Ollie says crossly. He is, as Elaina predicted, ensconced in the library. However, unlike Elaina, he is already dressed for the festival, his cravat hanging loose around his skinny neck, his black hair slicked back against his scalp. “I don’t even know what Trinket likes. He turns his nose up at everything I try to feed him.”

Not without reason—Vesper has it on good authority that Ollie once tried to feed Trinket a bit of red pepper, an incident that the bear has never quite forgotten.

“But surely you’ve read something,” she wheedles. “You’ve read half of the books in the library.”

Ollie lowers his book, contemplating, and Vesper knows she has hit upon the right strategy. If there is one way to get Ollie on your side, it is by appealing to his ego.

“Well, as a general rule, most bears like berries, nuts, grasses…” He cuts his eyes over at her. “Why?”

“I just wanted to gather some things to give as an offering,” Vesper says, which is not entirely a lie. Back when Mama and Papa began the festival, Mama insisted that bears be a central focus of the celebration and that a small altar be constructed to Orlan, a spirit to whom Mama claims she owes a small debt. Vesper may drop some—if not precisely all—of what she finds there.

The answer seems to pacify Ollie, whose gaze sinks down to his book again.

“Yes, I imagine that should be sufficient to pacify a spirit.”

The next stop is the kitchen. In the bustle of preparation, it is almost comically easy to slip through the legs of servers, pinching a handful of berries here, a scoop of nuts there. She is in and out before she can be noticed, a collection of small foodstuffs in her satchel.

From there, there is only one final task.

When she reaches the workshop again, there are no sounds within. A peek around the doorframe reveals an empty room—no Papa, no Elaina. Elaina’s tools have been cleared away, and the strange device Vesper glimpsed earlier is nowhere to be seen. Perfect.

Vesper knows the item she is looking for and that it lives in the workshop, but not where it is hidden. She has only seen it a few times—the strangest hat in her father’s possession. It is long and shaped like a beak, meant to cover not just the head, but the entirety of the face.

She searches the shelves first, slipping nimble fingers around the various tools and parts, careful not to disturb them. She does not think the hat would be there, but she cannot rule anything out. When her search turns up nothing, she moves on to the other places it might be hiding.

There are parts of Papa’s workshop that he keeps under lock and key: tools too dangerous for unsupervised use, failed projects that might cause harm, expensive materials he has ordered all the way from Wildemount and other far-flung lands. Those are locked in the chests and cabinets on the far end of the room, but Vesper has seen their contents before—she doesn’t remember seeing the hat there. When she has scoured the work benches and the piles of discarded materials, there is only one place left to look.

Underneath Papa’s desk, pushed to the very back, is a trunk covered in a thick layer of dust. Vesper does not know how to access it without disturbing the dust, but a nagging suspicion tells her that that is where the mask will be found.

From a pouch at her side, she pulls a set of tools.

She doesn’t quite remember where she got them. Perhaps she found them lying in one of the many empty rooms of Whitestone. Perhaps they were a gift from Uncle Scanlan. But she has not told anyone—not Mama, not Papa, not Elaina nor even Simon, with whom she shares almost everything, even though he is hardly more than a baby and doesn’t understand half of what she says—about them. And she has certainly shown no one that, through much trial and error, she has discovered how to use them.

It takes her a few tries, fussing with the locks, listening for clicks—the wrong clicks at first, then finally ones that sound correct. With a final adjustment, something turns. She pulls at the latch, and it falls open.

There is some fabric in the top of the chest—this she ignores in favor of the hint of leather she sees beneath, conical and worn. With a swift yank, she pulls it free, allowing the chest to close again.

She does not like the look of it—the round portions that glint like enormous insects’ eyes, the cruel sharpness of the beak. But if the little bear wants hats—special hats, unique hats—this one is unlike any other she has ever seen.

She is turning it over in her hands when she hears footsteps coming down the stairs.

“Elaina? Elaina!”

Vesper’s heart jumps into her throat, her grip tightening around the hat. _Papa._

She pushes the chest back beneath the desk. There is no time to brush a layer of dust over it again. She has only enough time to slip out the door, mask tucked beneath her arm, slinking around the corner on quiet feet.

“Elaina? Are you down here?”

She thinks, frantic. The bag with the berries is too small to conceal the mask. She must find a place to put it, must find a place to hide before—

“Elaina?”

Vesper spins on her heel, gaze meeting the towering figure of her father.

“Vesper.” Papa’s dark brows rise toward his hairline, stark against the white. “What are you doing down here?”

“Looking for Elaina,” Vesper says, surprised by the ease with which the lie comes to her.

“That makes two of us.” Papa runs a hand through his hair. “She’d promised to help me with something for the festival. I suppose that means you haven’t seen her then.”

Vesper shakes her head. Her blood is still pulsing frantically within her. She can feel it moving beneath the skin of her neck and all the way down within her stomach.

Papa looks down at her then—really looks at her, not just that cursory glance he gives her when he is distracted. Papa is easy to deceive when he’s distracted. But now he looks down at her with an unsettling intensity, the ghost of suspicion in his eyes.

In her head, Vesper uses one of the bad words Uncle Scanlan taught her, the ones Elaina has warned her not to use in front of the little ones.

“Down here to find your sister, eh?” Papa crosses his arms. “And I suppose it wouldn’t have anything to do with that bag you’re trying to conceal?”

Reluctantly, Vesper draws it out from behind her back. In her rush to leave the workshop, some of the berries have been squished—a violet stain grows on the side of the bag, leaking a drop or two onto the stone.

“What in—” Papa’s eyes widen with alarm, and in an instant, Vesper realizes how the dark, viscous liquid must look to him. She scrambles to open the bag, lifting the jostled berries up for him to inspect. Papa relaxes visibly.

“Oh. Oh, I see.” A little smirk wrinkles his mouth; Vesper’s pulse slows the tiniest bit. “My dear, did you steal berries from our _own kitchen_?”

Vesper snaps the bag shut in shock.

“How—”

“—did I know where you’d gotten them? The cooks were fretting about missing produce when I went through the kitchen looking for your sister. Vesper dear, whatever made you think to steal berries from the kitchen rather than simply asking for them?”

_Because,_ she thinks, _that way people wouldn’t ask me nosy questions about why I wanted them._

But she would not say this to Papa. Not to dear, silly Papa, who has a crease between his brows, a permanent mark of skepticism, and three dots of soot on the side of his left hand, even as the rest of him looks impeccable.

“I wanted to give something to the Bear.”

Which is true—though she does not feel the need to specify _which_ bear.

“I see.” Papa smiles faintly. She cannot tell if she has convinced him, but he does not remove the bag from her hands.

“I didn’t mean for anyone to fret.”

“I’m sure you didn’t.” Papa rubs his chin in a distracted way. It is smooth today, which is strange—the odd hours Papa keeps in his workshop mean that he almost always has a thin layer of stubble. “All the same, perhaps you might consider telling the cooks, so they don’t worry further.”

Vesper ducks her head, a little bit of shame creeping into her cheeks.

“Yes, Papa. I’m sorry.”

He smiles then—a real smile, the kind that wrinkles his eyes. He crouches down to her level, tousles her hair and studies her for a moment.

“Not to worry, dearest. You’ll come find me if you find your sister?”

Vesper nods. “Of course, Papa.”

“Good girl.” He pulls her forward, kissing her forehead. His hand, scarred and callused, is nearly large enough to cover the whole of the left side of her face. It makes her feel safe. “Now run along and make your offering to the Bear. Just don’t forget to get ready—Mama will be terribly disappointed if you don’t wear the lovely dress she picked out for you.”

She closes the bag again, holding it close to her chest. “I won’t forget, I promise.”

Only when the sound of Papa's footsteps has lapsed into silence does Vesper pull the mask out of the little pouch at her side, the one that is able to contain more than it seems like it ought. She was barely able to stuff it into the pouch before Papa found her. She clutches it tightly in her hands, keenly aware of the dwindling hours before the festival.

Vesper won't forget the promise she made him—but there is still a mission she must accomplish first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two of Vesper's little adventure is live! You guys have been lovely with your kudos and comments so far. Thanks for your support and hope you plan around for more shenanigans and hijinks!


	3. Disguise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And how long would she truly have before someone discovered her absence? Minutes? Surely only half an hour, at most. Vesper must find another way."
> 
> Sometimes, it's best to blend in and wait for the correct opportunity.

When Vesper returns to the clearing—she is certain it is the same one, it  _ must  _ be—she is dismayed to find it empty. 

She searches earnestly, nose close to the ground as she checks trees and trails for signs of the bears’ passing, but her investigation yields so little that she soon grows frustrated. At her belt, the bag of berries has continued to drip a steady stream of juice, staining her breeches a deep purple-crimson at the thigh. 

The strange hat, so hastily concealed upon Papa’s arrival downstairs, has vanished into a small pouch at Vesper’s belt. Now, in the quiet of the clearing, she opens the pouch once again, reaching thin fingers into its mouth to reassure herself that the hat is still there. No sooner has she pictured the sharp point of the beak than she feels it beneath her fingers.

She sometimes forgets the presence of the pouch at her hip—it is so small, after all, hardly noticeable to anyone but the most astute observer. It was a gift from Auntie Pike.  _ For secret things _ , she said. Vesper does not have many secrets—in a house overflowing with siblings, even a great mansion of a house, it is hard to keep even small secrets. But the hat is a secret, and when Vesper tried to shove it into the bag, it disappeared into the depths, even though it by no means should have fit. 

Auntie Pike has given her a very clever bag indeed. 

But that does not change the fact that the bears and their hats are well and truly gone. Frustration rises pink in Vesper’s cheeks. The sun is filtering low through the trees, reaching spindly fingers through the gaps in the leaves to tap her shoulder, a reminder of the waning time before the festival begins. 

And as Vesper closes the last few steps toward home, she realizes she has less time than she had imagined. 

“Ves! Ves, where are you?”

Elaina is at the forest’s edge, holding skirts above her ankles to keep them from dragging the dirt. Gone are the grease smudges on nose and ear; Elaina’s long dark hair has been contained to a sleek, shining braid, woven through with flowers as artfully as if they had grown there. For a moment, she looks so like Mama that Vesper stops, awed by the resemblance. 

Then her mouth creases, and the resemblance to Mama dissipates beneath a frown that is purely Elaina.

“Vesper, did you stick your head in bush? And what in the shining name of the Dawnfather is all over your leg? Is that blood?!”

Taking a moment to assess herself as she must appear under Elaina’s fastidious gaze, Vesper realizes that she is quite the spectacle. Her hair is all over leaves; the stain from the berries, prominent on her leg, has grown to the size of her palm. Dirt is smeared in long tracks from her knees down to her boots.

“Just berries.” She answers the most relevant question first and ignores the rest. “Is it time to get ready?”

“It’s  _ been _ time to get ready for the last half-hour.” Elaina clucks her toward the door, careful not to position her dress anywhere that it might attract some of Vesper’s cloud of disarray. “I’ve been waiting around to do your hair like Mama asked me to, but she didn’t warn me that I’d have to remove the entire forest from it first.”

Vesper chooses to ignore that as well.

“Did Papa find you?”

“Papa?” Elaina ushers her up the stairs, a line of thought creasing her brow. “I haven’t seen Papa this afternoon.”

“He was looking for you,” Vesper explains, even as she is herded toward Elaina’s vanity and deposited on a stool to begin the process of deforestation. “He wanted your help with a project.” 

“Well, unfortunately, I have a different project now.” Elaina sweeps leaves and little twigs from Vesper’s hair, combing her fingers through the strands until it is restored to some semblance of order. “Perhaps when we’re done here, I can go and find him.”

Elaina is methodical and efficient with her preparations, but Vesper finds it hard to sit still as her hair is cleaned and plaited, her face scrubbed with a cloth. Somewhere out beyond the festival, a little bear—Vesper’s bear, she has come to think of it—slinks through the bushes, collecting hats for purposes she cannot fathom. When Elaina is done with her, Vesper will be forced to go with the rest of the family to hear Mama and Papa make a speech. And then there will be any number of eyes to watch her—Mama, Papa, Elaina and Ollie, Aunt Cassandra, Captain Kynan... 

Frustration wells within her. She must devise some way to get free.

Vesper’s dark hair is thin and slippery, but Elaina works magic as she tucks flowers around her ears and down the length of the plait. Elaina’s magic is not real magic like Auntie Kiki’s or even Uncle Scanlan’s, but it is miraculous nonetheless. Vesper stares at herself in the mirror as the transformation occurs, pressing a gentle finger to the petal of a flower at the very end of her braid. Even Mama cannot manage this kind of grandeur; Mama does best with simple braids. Vesper mentioned it once, when she wanted Mama to try something more complex, but then Mama got strange and sad, so Vesper has tried not to bring it up again. Now she goes to Elaina whenever she needs help. 

When the transformation is finished, Elaina pinches Vesper’s cheeks affectionately. “Can you manage not to climb any trees for the next hour at least?”

Vesper reaches up and pokes her sister’s nose. 

“No promises.”

Elaina smirks. 

“I wouldn’t expect anything else. Now go get dressed and meet me back in the hall.”

Vesper scurries off to her own room, closing the door behind her. For a moment, her gaze rests on the dress across her bed, then strays to the window. This brief moment of unsupervised activity may be the only chance she has left to continue her mission, to pursue her quarry before it slips too far from her grasp. 

But her reflection blinks back at her in the mirror, Elaina’s intricate handiwork falling over her shoulder. Though she is happy to tease her sister, she does not truly want to ruin her work. And how long would she truly have before someone discovered her absence? Minutes? Surely only half an hour, at most.

Vesper must find another way. 

Armed with new determination, she dresses for the festival. 

\--

Lantern light glints over the streets. A murmur of excitement follows Vesper and her family as they pass down the road. It is a long trek from the front steps of the palace to the heart of the city, where the Sun Tree blooms in imposing splendor, and it seems longer with people crowding in all around them. Every person in Whitestone wants a glimpse of Lady Vex’ahlia and Lord Percival.

Elaina holds her chin up, but she stays close behind Papa, not fully willing to step out of his shadow. Ollie wanders at Elaina’s side, scanning for familiar faces. When he catches sight of Keeper Yennen, thin but hale near the open entrance to the Temple of the Lawbearer, he does not hesitate to run ahead.

Vesper stays near Mama, holding Simon by the hand, watching baby Freddie make faces over Mama’s shoulder. Already, Freddie is squirming, eager to escape, though her pudgy legs would not support her if she tried to walk. It is everything Mama can do to keep the little imp from flipping out of her arms. Simon merely toddles along in awestruck wonder, blue eyes wide.

“Pire.” He points to the glowing lanterns above, his version of ‘fire’ soft, not fully formed in his mouth. His head, covered in a profusion of tousled black waves, bumps against Vesper’s arm as he cranes back, arching his head to see more. Vesper taps his exposed forehead once, twice. He giggles, batting at her hand.  

But even Simon—gentle, wondering Simon—is not her primary focus. Though her grip on his hand is firm, Vesper’s gaze is trained on the stalls, scanning for signs: the rustle of fur; a deep, rumbling snuffle, familiar or strange; a little glimpse of red in the shadows. They pass the stall where Vesper spotted her bear taking hats only hours before. The shopkeeper riffles through her stock with an air of confusion, perhaps seeking a red beret she is unlikely to find. 

But there is no bear to be found, not even Trinket. And Simon is pulling her forward, eager to be atop the dais that has been raised beside the Sun Tree. To see and be seen, to be adored by everyone who cannot help but coo over his glacier-blue eyes and seraphic cheeks. He is a child born to be admired.

Pushed by the tide of the crowd, Vesper finds herself atop the platform, fists clenched tight at her sides as she tries to distinguish familiar faces in the sea of people before them. 

Papa brings the din of festival-goers down to a murmur. In his crisp, authoritative voice, he talks of the innovations that have flourished in Whitestone, of their recovery from times of tragedy and loss. Vesper’s attention weaves in and out; it is too difficult to focus with all of those eyes upon them. She is grateful when Papa draws to a close, declaring the festival begun to cheers and whoops.

She is halfway down the steps when she catches sight of a flicker of movement, far in the back of the crowd. It might only have been a trick of the light, or just a playful breeze catching a tent flap. But she does not think so. She hurries back to the top of the dais, if only to get a better vantage.

And her instinct is rewarded when, only moments later, a furry head peeps out of the bottom of the tent that houses the Slayer’s Cake. 

She dashes back down, taking the steps two at a time—to the casual observer, it might seem as though she were just alarmed at how far ahead her family had gotten. But it is not fear that speeds her heart in her chest. Papa and Mama are swarmed by people, friends and strangers alike, wishing to speak to the Lord and Lady of Whitestone. If there has ever been a time for her to get away, it is now. 

Vesper begins searching for the best way to slip through the crowd. She sidles up close to Ollie, who has rejoined them, though he stands apart from Mama and Papa and the throng of people, his gaze distant. If he sees her appear, he does not remark on it. 

She sees her opportunity as a path briefly clears, a snaking line towards the Slayer’s Cake. Now. She must seize the opportunity  _ now _ .

Ollie leans over, following the line of her gaze. “So you’re trying to catch a bear, are you?”

Vesper jumps, not even trying to conceal her shock. Until a moment ago, Ollie had been staring off into space, paying her no mind—or so she thought. 

“I may be absent-minded, but I’m not stupid.” A little smirk lights his face. “And believe it or not, I do listen to the questions you ask me.”

“I… I just thought maybe…”

“...maybe I wouldn’t pay attention when my little sister, who has always been partial to Mother’s bear and has a knack for trouble, asks whether other bears also like to eat the same types of food?”

Vesper wrinkles her nose.

“Yes.”

Ollie chuckles under his breath, straightening back up. 

“I suppose I’m not going to be able to stop you from trying, am I?”

_ Short of telling Mama and Papa _ , she thinks. But she isn’t about to give him any ideas, so she just shakes her head, her mouth firm.

Ollie nods, the smirk still etched around his mouth. “You know Father will turn me out into the woods if something happens to you and he realizes I knew something about it.”

A little thread of guilt winds through Vesper’s gut. She is not trying to get anyone in trouble—least of all herself. But Elaina has her projects, and Ollie his books, and Vesper… Vesper also wants something that is hers.  _ Truly _ hers. She may not be smart or skilled or special, but she is slippery, and she knows these woods better than anyone. 

And there is a little bear, just the right size for a friend, slipping farther away every moment she hesitates.

“I promise I’ll be careful,” she murmurs. “I won’t make Papa sad.”

“Hmph.” Ollie gives a non-commital grunt. For a moment, she is not sure what he will do. Then he sighs. “Well, if you’re going after it, you ought to go now. It only gets farther the longer you wait.”

For the second time in a short span, Vesper cannot hide her surprise. In her delight, she flings herself at her brother’s side, wrapping him in a brief and awkward, hug. He is stiff in the embrace—Ollie is far from the most effusive of her siblings—but he gives her head a quick, affectionate pat. 

“Just be quick. I won’t be able to keep them from asking after you for long.”

“Promise!” she squeaks, already itching to be away. 

Just before she slips through the crush of bodies, he catches her braid—not to hurt, just enough to get her attention.

“And Ves?”

“Hmm?”

In one quick motion, he attaches something to the end of her braid. It looks like a pin, eight spokes radiating out from a circular center. It glints in the firelight, a mirror of the pin, the same shape and hue, that holds Ollie’s cravat in place. 

Vesper does not visit the temples nearly as often as she should, but even she recognizes the symbol of the Dawnfather.

“This way, if you get into trouble, I’ll know.” He gives her shoulder a little shove. “Go on, then.”

Vesper does not need to be told twice. Through the crowds and towards the stalls, Vesper follows the path where she had last seen the furry little snout. 

For a moment, when she is out of her family’s sight, she pauses to consider the pin now affixed to her braid. It doesn’t have any of the little clockwork mechanisms that characterize Elaina’s creations; the metal is solid all the way through, heavy in her hand. She does not know how it will help her, should the need arise, but strangely, she is willing to take Ollie at his word for once. Flipping her braid back over her shoulder, she continues the search.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was not at all where I expected this chapter to go--you'll note the distinct lack of bears--but I enjoy how it turned out. Thanks to all who have commented and kudosed. You folks are lovely.
> 
> Writing Vesper's dynamic with all her siblings is just too much fun. Have I gone overboard in dreaming up headcanons about the Perc'ahlia kids? Maybe. Have I made Pinterest boards for each of them with unique color schemes and sun-based symbolism ? Maaaaaybe.
> 
> I swear I do plan to wrap this up in another chapter or two, but in the meantime, enjoy more of Vesper's shenanigans.

**Author's Note:**

> Here I am, submerging myself in the deep end of Critical Role fandom. I've cosplayed, I've drawn fanart, I've started my own campaign. At this point, it was only a matter of time before I started writing. After watching Honey Heist and working my way through Campaign One, I started to think about what a disaster (and by disaster, I mean source of hilarity) it would be if anyone in Whitestone ever found out about what Trinket and his friends were up to. And then I started thinking about how a seven-year-old Perc'ahlia child, fearless and raised around a gigantic brown bear, would react to seeing a small-sized "bear" turn up at the Artisans' Festival. 
> 
> The rest, as they say, is history. 
> 
> So, here I sit with far too many headcanons about the brilliant, charming, sneaky, and disastrous quarter-elf kids of Percival de Rolo and Vex'ahlia. Here' s a little snippet of that corner of my brain. Hope you all find Vesper as charming as I do.
> 
> (The plan is for this to be pretty short. Maybe three or four chapters all total.)


End file.
